Walk Away
by Hippothestrowl
Summary: What if Harry just walks away from Hogwarts and the magical contract that binds him to the Tri-Wizard Tournament? A single tiny change to canon and we have a short, coming of age drama that eventually turns into a short love story. Harmony was meant to be. Brief Dumbledore & Hogwarts students bash and humiliation.
1. Finding An Exit

.

.

 **WALK AWAY**

.

 _Harry had had enough.  
He turned silently, and  
began to walk away..._

 _\- Goblet of Fire  
by JK Rowling _

.

 **Chapter 1**

 **Finding An Exit**

* * *

.

Desolation

Harry Potter's spirits were at a low, low slump. _Dragons!_ How was he supposed to get past a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing monster! Wasn't it enough that everyone in the school now detested him? Again? But this was worse than all the hatred that had been heaped on him during his second-year at the school. Fear clutched his heart. _Dragons!_ How could he survive such a nightmarish beast?

Harry sped along through the night, skirting the edge of the Forest; he had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the Gryffindor fireside and talk to Sirius in the Floo flames, and he couldn't remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than he did right now – when, without warning, he ran into something very solid.

Harry cried out as he fell backwards, his glasses askew, clutching the invisibility cloak around him. A voice nearby said, "Owh! Who's there?"

Harry hastily checked that the cloak was covering him and lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard he had hit. He recognised the goatee ... it was Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, no doubt scouting out the dragons for their champion, Viktor Krum.

"I know you're here!" barked Karkaroff, groping around in the darkness. Harry remained still and silent. Minutes passed. Karkaroff seemed unwilling to give up his search. "Oh, I heard you right enough ... you will not escape me." Harry daren't even look at his watch for fear of making the tiniest sound or revealing an elbow. Surely Sirius would wait for him? Karkaroff continued to stomp angrily around, but perhaps he was now slightly further away – should Harry make a run for it? He dare not, not yet. More minutes passed...

An angry hiss of breath was released, then the footsteps receded in the direction of the dragon enclosure. Harry held on for another half minute before crawling off in the opposite direction towards the castle. Pretty soon he was on his feet and running ... running...

Harry was breathless by the time he'd entered the gloomy Gryffindor common room and had thrown himself in front of the fireplace.

"Sirius! Sirius!" The boy grimaced in anguish. Surely his godfather could have stayed longer? "Come on, Sirius! I need you!" But the flames remained impassive and Harry's hopes faded. He was now utterly alone.

"Who were you talking to?"

It was Ron. Dressed in his maroon paisley pyjamas.

"What's that got to do with you?" Harry snarled. "Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?" He knew that Ron had no idea what he'd walked in on, knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but he didn't care – at this moment he hated everything about Ron, right down to his stupid, hand-me-down, I'm-so-hard-done-to pyjamas.

Ron sneered, his face reddening with anger. "Yeah, I should've realised you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practising for your next interview in peace."

Harry seized one of the POTTER STINKS badges off the table and chucked it as hard as he could across the room. It hit Ron on the forehead and bounced off, leaving Ron off-balance.

"There you go," Harry said as he shoulder-barged past."Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now if you're lucky ... that's what you want, isn't it?"

Harry stormed upstairs. He lay awake in bed fuming for a long time afterwards. Apart from Hermione, he was friendless and desolate. Why was he being forced into this Tournament? Even if the dragon didn't kill him, would that stop whoever had put his name in? He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow to try to smother a groan. A tripping jinx would put him at the mercy of the gigantic creature. It did not even need to be the person who'd got him into the Tournament. Anyone could do it, and everyone despised him. There was no doubt that Snape or maybe Malfoy and others would be glad to see him dead.

He sat up. He lay down again. The stress was unendurable. It was a tired, miserable Harry Potter that awoke the next morning. But something had changed during the couple of hours of sleep he'd managed to snatch – a change that had been crucial if he was not to go completely mad. A new attitude had resolved itself in his head. Might he not just walk away from it all? From the Tournament? From Hogwarts and all the bigotry and hate? Not like a runaway who'd done something wrong, but could he walk away head high, properly and legally? Hogwarts had seemed like a second home when he'd been eleven – but wasn't that simply because of the new excitement of magic, not to mention escaping the Dursleys? He had a small fortune in his vault; why could he not be free?

.

Rejection

Harry confronted Hermione at breakfast about getting out of the Tournament. He didn't mention leaving the school.

"I don't know, Harry. I was born in the Muggle world. I could look in the library, I suppose, but I doubt there's anything about breaking magical contracts, or the Headmaster would have told you."

 _Dumbledore!_

The Headmaster was busy most of the morning with the additional complexity of Tournament arrangements. Lunch was the first opportunity. Harry wolfed down a couple of sandwiches then made his way up the winding stair.

But Dumbledore seemed less than sympathetic. "Harry, we have no choice but to accept the situation for what it is. You have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, you must do."

"But..."

"A magical contract is binding, Harry."

Harry wasn't sure that Dumbledore was being entirely honest with him. "What if I leave Hogwarts?"

"Leave, Harry? As a minor, you must attend school."

"But..."

"Do not concern yourself. All efforts are being made to ensure the safety of every entrant."

"What if I'm engulfed by flames forty feet long? And Professor Moody said someone wants me dead, so it won't be just a dragon!"

Dumbledore frowned. "You know of–?"

"–And this is just the _first_ task! What else have you got in store for me!" Harry rose to his feet. "So you won't help me get out of this?"

"Harry, I am unable to assist you."

"Then I'll do it on my own," snapped Harry, and walked away.

.

Decision

All through Charms that afternoon, Harry was distracted. What would happen if he simply refused? Would the magical contract compel him to walk into the arena? Force him to deal with a dragon? That seemed unlikely without a mind to control him. Would breaking the contract drain away his magic? Even end his life? But he felt sure now he was so likely to die in a few days' time anyway so what would it matter? He had to take the chance.

"Potter?"

 _Anyway, I'd rather just drop dead than be burned alive._ It was almost a relief to have come to a decision even if it meant death. At least he wouldn't be–

"–Potter!"

Harry blinked and looked around. Everyone was waving their wands about and chanting spells. Hermione in particular had a pile of chalks, quills, and even a wastepaper basket on her desk – with a board duster flying through the air towards her at that very moment.

"Sorry, Professor?" said Harry.

"Concentrate, Potter," said Flitwick. "Remember the incantation: _Accio_ then point and focus on the object you wish to summon and name it, like so: _Accio book_ "

A large volume of _Ten Thousand Charms You Should Know_ sped out of an open cupboard and knocked the little man off his feet causing everybody to laugh. But Harry wasn't in a cheerful mood. He was more certain than ever that he was going to die.

"Stay behind after class, Potter," squeaked Flitwick, rubbing his nose irritably.

Ron, who had kept well over on the other side of Hermione, was one of the first to leave at the end of the lesson. She scooped up her books and, with a backward glance of sympathy, followed Ron. Soon the classroom was empty but for himself and the teacher.

"I'm assigning you extra homework," said Professor Flitwick.

"Professor, may I ask you something?" said Harry, as he walked forward to collect the instructions that Flitwick was holding out.

"What is it? I have another class shortly."

"A student doesn't _have_ to remain at Hogwarts, do they? I mean, when I was eleven, my letter only said I had a place here, and I remember it had: 'We await your owl'. Didn't that mean they were asking for my agreement?"

Flitwick stared at Harry thoughtfully for a few moments. "Schooling is not mandatory in the magical world, Mr Potter, though it is highly recommended. Careers not requiring qualifications would severely limit one's options."

"And how would one arrange that? To leave, I mean?"

"A letter from a legal guardian is all that is required. Addressed to the Deputy Headmistress in the first instance."

"And if that letter were... torn up and thrown away?"

Flitwick gasped. "Surely you don't think–"

"–Just saying 'if', Professor."

Flitwick climbed up onto the pile of books that lay on his chair and sat down. He barely moved his hand but several sheets of parchment flew to it. For almost half a minute he incanted a complex charm upon them before handing the parchments to Harry. "Whatever is written on any of these parchments will appear on all three. One of them registers with Ministry records and will alert the business section of Magical Law Enforcement if either of the other two is tampered with or destroyed. The third copy is for... your friend."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry could hear students gathering outside, a couple of sixth-years peered in the doorway. One jeered softly.

"I would advise strongly against this action, Mr Potter."

"You think I should remain in the Tournament and be eaten or burned alive?"

"Every precaution has been taken to–"

"–Professor, whoever put my name in that Goblet wants me to die. What precaution could possibly save me if I just happened to fall at the wrong moment? Or my voice silenced, my wand lost, my eyesight blinded? Easily done from the sidelines and no one the wiser. What then, Professor? Could _you_ save me? Could anyone?"

Flitwick had no answer except to say, "I urge you to reconsider."

"What happens if I break a magical contract?"

"Out of the question! You would never be party to any magical contract ever again. Think about it, Potter! One day you might need a loan to buy property, and many careers require such a contract. Even a marriage contract will no longer be possible."

"Professor, I don't expect to live long enough for any of those to be likely."

Stunned into silence, Flitwick watched the boy walk away.

.

Knowing

"Nothing, Harry. I'm really sorry." Hermione wearily patted Harry's arm, but it didn't help his feelings of hopelessness. He'd still held a faint hope of remaining at Hogwarts. Glumly, Harry stared at the mountain of books before them in the library.

"Nothing at all in this lot about _changing_ contracts? Challenging unlawful contracts which have been forced on you by some git who you don't even know? Nothing about being in a contract while still underage?"

"Well, technically I suppose the Tournament contract regards you as an adult because well, by definition, it's impossible for you not to be. I'd consult a law firm if it were me."

"A law firm..."

"Harry, you're on your own as it stands. A law firm could manage your affairs for you. Be good to have someone like that in your corner. There's a list of professionals in ... this book here." She pulled one out of the stack and handed it to him. "Better check your bank vault though – advice doesn't come cheap. Gringotts can help you there. They offer all kinds of financial guidance not just storage, you know."

Harry looked around at the other students as they pored over books and scribbled away with quills like they had nothing more to worry about than how many inches of History essay they needed to complete. All of them had parents they could turn to if anything serious happened, Harry realised. He had nobody but the Dursleys. And that was it. That was the nux of the matter. Suddenly, all was clear.

"Right. Thanks, Hermione. I know what I'm doing now."

"You do?"

"Yes. I'm going to write some letters."

.

Messages

Ragnok the goblin scraped his claws across the letter before him. His jaws parted in a nasty grin, revealing a row of sharp little teeth. "Griphook! In here."

A goblin stomped in. "Sir?"

Ragnok handed over the letter. "One of our better clients now wishes to use more of our services than merely allowing his wealth to accumulate. Set up the necessaries. Advise him. Inform him of what is available. Report your progress directly to me."

Griphook looked at the signature on the letter and released gas before hurrying off to carry out his superior's orders.

Not very distant from Gringotts, Paul Dither was consulting his partner. "Yes, it's the Potter boy himself right enough. We need to be ultra discreet with this one, Jack, and no slipups else the publicity would be disastrous. Give him anything he wants and for Merlin's sake keep him happy! The lad's had a raw deal so do everything you can for him."

Jack Dodge nodded, smiled, and reached for his quill.

Meanwhile, at St. Mungo's Hospital, an isolated cleaner was Scourgifying the grime from a corridor window frame. She leaned back on her mop and sighed as an owl alighted on her newly cleaned sill.

"Hey, owl, the hospital wards are on the other side but you'll need to pass through the–"

–Her eyes had locked onto the name written on the scroll attached to the bird's leg. It was _her_ name – her _professional_ name: _Mercy Fuller_. That could only mean one thing: the chance of work! Real work! She opened up the scroll. Her eyes widened as she began to read. They'd almost popped out by the time she'd finished.

Far away in Little Whinging, Petunia Dursley used an antiseptic wipe on an envelope she'd removed from the freak's owl before carefully opening it at arm's length. When nothing strange happened, she began to read. Slowly her eyes began to crinkle. Her horsy mouth twitched into an evil smirk. She pressed the letter down on the kitchen table and rubbed her hands together with joy before reaching for a ballpoint pen. "Vernon! Vernon, in here! We need to sign this!"

At Hogwarts the very next day, Professor McGonagall reached into the in-tray that a house-elf was filling with the morning's mail. Her fingers instantly sensed something different about the envelope she was touching: paper. She winced. Paper often meant a Muggle parent complaining about something or other, but perhaps this time it was from Mr Granger; he was usually very polite.

She used a spell to retrieve the letter from within, then began to read as she took a large quaff of her morning tea...

The little elf, who was just vanishing off to perform other duties elsewhere in the castle, left an elven-faced mist of hot tea floating down where the Deputy Headmistress had spewed her drink. McGonagall wiped her mouth. "Merlin! Albus will not like this one little bit."

.

Ignored

"Harry, this is, I confess, a great shock." Professor Dumbledore peered over the Dursleys' letter handed to him by McGonagall only a minute before. She'd stood back, expecting a stronger reaction from him.

"I'm no longer happy here, Headmaster." Harry had rehearsed a few responses and was hoping to fit them in where he could. "Every year I've had to put up with abuse and bullying and hatred as well as being drawn into all sorts of dangerous situations. Even in first year I..."

Harry's gaze turned inward for a moment. "Ron once asked me if you _meant_ me to go after the Philosopher's Stone, and I've wondered ever since. It was just a test, a game like... like this one. This year is the worst. It seems to suit your purpose perfectly: stand aside while I suffer. ... Quite honestly I've had enough. I'm scared. If I had parents, they'd have pulled me out of Hogwarts long ago."

Dumbledore glanced at Professor McGonagall who was stood well to one side, thin-lipped as ever, but attentive. He tilted the letter towards Harry. "How did you persuade them to...?"

"I told my aunt and uncle they need never see me again. That was more than enough to get their signatures on that."

Dumbledore frowned for a long time before speaking. "You intend not to return to your home? Where will you live?"

"I shall get my own place now, with a professional guardian."

With a shake of his head, Dumbledore leaned forward. "Harry, it is important that you remain with–"

"–I've never had anyone to really help me before. I mean, other kids have parents to turn to for advice. Now I've found people to help me too and manage my affairs safely. They can provide a property and secure it for me. I want my own personal manager who will take care of me, my life, and my education properly."

McGonagall had clutched at her heart. Harry wondered if she were going to collapse. Dumbledore looked as if he wished her to leave but he drew up a chair with a hand gesture and she sank gratefully down upon it.

Still Dumbledore hesitated. He looked very weary. Finally he spoke. "When I left you with the Dursleys I knew you would be protected from Voldemort by the magic of your mother's sacrifice, because her blood runs in your Aunt Petunia. If you no longer regard her home as your own then I fear you may have already broken that protection. I wish you had come to me sooner, I would have–"

"–I DID come to you!" shouted Harry. "I came to you for help and you turned me away!"

"Harry, I–"

"–And you lied to me! You said a magical contract is binding.–"

"–It is, Harry."

"But you didn't tell me what would happen if I broke it! It was as if there was no choice but to compete in an entertainment where we know someone is trying to kill me! There WAS a choice! And it was MINE to make, not yours!"

"Harry, please–"

"–I told you I'd find a way myself, and I have. There's no reason for me to remain at Hogwarts to be... to be hated and reviled, and poked fun at and having to face death for everyone's... amusement."

He threw one of the POTTER STINKS badges onto the desk. "I suppose you think that's a silly prank not worth your attention? Certainly none of the teachers stopped it. Why didn't you make an announcement? You could have told everybody I didn't put my name in the Goblet! What about the lies in the newspaper? Have you no influence anywhere?"

Harry sagged in his chair, deflated, appearing as exhausted as the Headmaster looked beaten. He had to force himself to stand, and he made sure to scrape and bang his chair as much as possible.

"All that doesn't matter anymore. I will now have something I never had before: people to look after me decently. People who care not just about rules and regulations but my happiness as well."

Dumbledore watched him leave. His heart was heavy. He knew the boy was right. They had all failed him.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Three chapters already being polished - around 10,000 words short story._

 _Did you spot the tiny change from book canon? Harry cried out when he bumped into Karkaroff instead of keeping silent. That delayed Harry longer so he missed Sirius's moral support from the Floo fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, and so eventually Harry cracked and decided enough is enough and decided he wanted to quit._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	2. Growing Up

.

 _So far... 4th Year. Reviled by almost everyone at Hogwarts because his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and upon learning he has to face a dragon in the first task of the Tri-wizard Tournament, Harry Potter is in despair at all the calamities which keep ruining his life. After being informed by Professor Flitwick that breaking a magical contract won't kill him or drain his magic, but only means he cannot be a party to future magical contracts, he leaves Hogwarts to gain professional support in his life, effectively to pay for the management and guidance that loving parents would normally provide. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 2**

 **Growing Up**

* * *

.

Nightmare

Leaving Hogwarts was an anti-climax. It was early morning and Harry had not slept well. Nobody was around to cheer or boo. No one begged him to stay. Hardly anyone knew Harry was going except for the Headmaster and his deputy. He'd murmured a drowsy goodbye to Hermione of course, and was astonished when she became distraught and collapsed to her knees in the common room. Ron had rushed up and told him to EFF off, but whether he'd realised Harry was leaving for good or not wasn't clear.

Gringotts had sent him one of their Port charms and an enchanted bag for his personal effects, so he'd left his trunk behind. Harry's tired mind was still puzzling over Hermione's reaction when he stood outside the gates and activated the Port. No further sensible thinking was possible. He clutched at an old table in case he stumbled but found it hadn't been necessary because even though he was very sleepy and inattentive, the Port was effortless and instantaneous: he was there.

"Welcome, Mr Potter," said Griphook, "Everything is in order so our discussions will not take long."

Eyes drooping, Harry was relieved to hear that. All he wanted to do was sleep. Bleary-eyed, he looked around. If this was Griphook's office it was very drab and bare-looking with plenty of scuff marks on the grey floorboards. More likely just a room reserved for receiving clumsy wizards, he decided, as the goblin took him through into a more pleasant, carpeted environment.

"Take a seat, Mr Potter."

The red, padded ceiling was soothingly warm and the blue leather upholstery very comfortable. Harry sank gratefully onto it. Griphook's chair, on the other side of the desk must be much higher, Harry thought, for the little goblin was almost at eye-level with him.

"Finances," said Griphook. "You wished to have a better picture of your assets. I can confirm they have grown decidedly well. Here are the details. You can purchase with ease any or all of the three properties I referred to in my letter." He passed over additional information with images that turned with his hand.

"Available now?"

"Many properties are seized in lieu of debts, Mr Potter. We have many more sitting idle in other parts of the country and even abroad."

"No, London is fine." Harry struggled to stay awake, trying to remember questions he'd meant to ask. "And they can be made unplottable, unfindable?"

"Guaranteed. Far safer than the charms that wizards use. No one but the owner may ever reveal it, and then only willingly. Coercion or trickery will not work."

"That little boarded-up shop in Diagon Alley – side entrance in that narrow alley..."

"The alley is part of the property, Mr Potter, and is unnoticeable."

Harry tried to concentrate but was struggling to keep his eyes open. "It's a handy stopping off point. But for more extensive, comfortable living..." His eyes drooped almost shut. "Can I decide another time about others?"

"Certainly. Now, could you please sign these transfer orders to... that one is to your law firm and this, once you've got their signature, your personal affairs manager."

"And educator," Harry murmured absently, his mind wandering...

"Yes, tuition is included in personal affairs. You'll need to make arrangements to–"

–But the sound of Griphook's voice was lost to nothing. Red faded to pastel in the ceiling. The smell of leather that so dominated the room had already gone. Pain cleaved Harry's scar like the stroke of a goblin's axe. He was seated before a blazing fireplace in a dimly lit room, pointing with the claws of a thin, babyish hand towards a small, quaking figure kneeling on the floor.

"What did you say to me, Wormtail?" His voice was high and cold, yet fury and fear burned inside him. It could not be true, he could not see how...

The man on the floor was trembling, unable to meet his gaze.

"Say it again!" murmured the voice. "Say it again!"

"Gone, master. Harry Potter has broken the contract and left Hogwarts for an unknown destination."

"And Bartemius?"

"On his way, Lord. He should be–"

"–Crucio!"

The figure on the floor seemed to compact into a ball, screaming and writhing in dreadful pain – but he himself was relentless. Only when the door creaked and another figure could be heard clunking forward, did he turn his wand. Through the hazy gloom could be discerned a man with an oddly-stiffened leg and a rapidly swivelling eye: his Defence teacher, Professor Moody.

"You have greatly disappointed me, Bartemius."

The visitor was unable to kneel yet sank down painfully with one leg crouched. "My Lord! It was not possible to–"

"–I ordered that on no account must the boy escape me! That if the plan failed then you must bring him directly to me at any cost, did I not?"

"You did, but my Lord, there was no warning! I–"

"–Avada Kedavra!" He stared as the man fell. "At any... cost," repeated the voice.

The view swivelled but the first man was no longer there. "Wormtail! I need feeding!"

The only response was the muffled scrape as if a badly injured man was crawling away across the floor behind him.

"Nagini! Bite him! Bring him here!"

A scream of terrified words. A blaze of light. Fiery creatures swam through the air exposing what appeared to be a great snake twisting and squirming in its death agonies with the man ablaze in its jaws. And then appalling pain as he himself was consumed with the other two...

"Mr Potter! Mr Potter! Wake up!" It was a goblin's voice.

"Mr Potter!"

"Griphook?" murmured Harry, unwilling to open his eyes, too frightened to see what might be there...

"I am Fleshack, Mr Potter. A Mentician tasked with dismantling your... condition."

"Condition?"

Harry opened his eyes. The goblin was waving a vicious-looking blade with serrations almost to the curved tip. He stabbed into something at table height just out of Harry's sight. When the knife rose again, a tiny, lizard-like creature – or perhaps only part of one – was impaled, squirming on the end. The goblin crushed it between his teeth, chewed and swallowed.

"Late lunch," said the goblin with a grimace that might have been apologetic. "You've been out for hours."

Harry's hand went to his forehead. A fleshy blob clung there like a moist spidery plaster.

"You can peel that octosuckle off now, Mr Potter," said the goblin airily. "Whatever was trapped has been purged. ... I had to make a judgement!" he added swiftly, mistaking Harry's expression for one of accusation. "No way to tell if it was endangering your life."

Harry sat up in disgust and threw away the repulsive dressing, watching as it slithered wetly out of sight. Fleshack was at the table, using a quill to cross out values on a rather bloody scroll. "Uuh... shall we say..." He glanced back to study Harry's astonishment. He crossed through something else. "No charge in the circumstances and no harm done."

.

Interview

Harry Potter sat at a desk in a consultation room in the offices of Dither and Dodge, waiting anxiously. The window was silenced and the thick carpet deadened any other noise. Nervously he straightened a quill in its inkstand then moved it further aside so he didn't knock it over. He poured himself a second cup of tea from a pot and stirred in the milk with an elevated gurgle and several clinks. As he did so, a blurred blue shape had appeared beyond the frosted glass of the door. There was a brief tap. The door opened and a middle-aged woman with greying hair entered.

Harry stood up. "Oh erm... Mrs... uuh... Madam Ful–"

"–Madam Mercy Fuller at your service, Mr Potter."

"Er... right er..."

"Take a seat? Thank you." She did so, perching a small handbag on the desk before smoothing out her dark blue robe.

Harry shuffled some papers about, losing the one he wanted first.

She smiled. "You probably were going to offer me tea but I'd say no, then you wanted to ask about my qualifications?"

"Uumm... sorry... yeah."

"I'm a registered PAM – that's a personal affairs manager. I can offer guidance on most common topics both magical and Muggle: home, business, health, education, diet, safety, leisure, and so on. I can function as a go-between, secretary, maid, mentor, tutor, guardian, assistant, escort, and companion." She handed over a lengthy parchment describing each one. "'Guardian' would only be a token position now you're emanci–"

"–Guardian? So you'd be a kind of... parent?"

"The role is flexible. I won't be ordering you about, if that's what you mean. Rather the other way round."

"Right. So... not an official guardian?"

"Yes, I'd be registered as such but not empowered to control you because you're of-age."

Harry stared. Quite a while.

She frowned. "That's what it says in the Ministry records. The status was elevated by an adult contract which automatically defined you as such."

"I can do magic?" His hand twitched towards his wand.

"I'm sure you can."

Harry pointed his wand and shouted, "Accio teapot!" It slid towards him and he topped up his cup. "That's brilliant!" He cast a light then let it fade. Eyes ablaze he pointed his wand at the door–

"–Ahem! You want to know where I've worked before?"

"Oh, yeah, right..."

"I have been employed in a junior capacity at the Ministry in several departments, also as hygienist at St Mungo's, stock management in various shops and offices along Diagon Alley, and pre-schooled the children of three different families." Another parchment was passed to Harry.

"Pre-schooled?"

"It's a one year course to help youngsters prepare for Hogwarts."

"Ten-year-olds? What about–"

"–I did apply for a position at Hogwarts two years ago but was unsuccessful." She sighed. "That was my dream. Apparently I was overqualified for the post."

"Two years ago was... but that... you didn't apply to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, did you?"

"I did. The Headmaster claimed the school had insufficient resources to afford me."

"But we had Lockhart that year! He was pathetic!"

"He is now. Sadly I've had the duty of bathing him a few times in one of the spell-damage wards at the hospital. Kept asking me if I wanted his autograph."

"Yeah, well he spell-damaged himself while trying to attack me and–"

"–You were there when it happened? He was teaching you how to duel?"

"Erm... not quite. He was going to wipe our memories because we found out he was a fraud – erm... long story. What would you be able to teach me?"

"Most subjects up to NEWT level but not including Astronomy, Divination, Hist–"

"–That's fine. Not sure what I'm going to need yet. I'm just trying to survive basically."

"Life skills then, but not Potions, Herbology, History, and some others which are specialist subjects. I ask you, how many adults brew their own potions? There are about twelve witches and wizards supplying potions to the trade in the entire country and that's all. Similar with History only less: about three! Complete waste of time learning those – unless you intend a career in pharmagicy or magaeology?"

Harry shook his head. "Not sure I have a career to look forward to at all. I broke that magical contract you mentioned, see?"

"Mmm... I read about that. Oh well, in theory that rules out many Ministry and Healing positions but I'd bet a lot of departments would accept you with a non-magical contract because of the prestige. There are also plenty of other things you can do, Mr Potter."

"Such as?"

"Music, writing, art, cookery, crafts of all kinds. If you want something more stimulating there's stick racing, manufacture, and testing – and of course, Quidditch. Any team would leap at the chance to have you on their side. Add the near infinite range of Muggle activities you could consider. We can go through catalogues of ideas until you find something you'd like to try. With your wealth there's no pressure; you can pick and choose. The right choice will give meaning and purpose to your life."

Harry's face had continued to brighten as she spoke. "When you put it like that. I mean, I was kind of resigned to just being me, just glad not to be hated and threatened every day. But now..."

"Mr Potter, you can have a great life! Put behind you whatever experiences you have suffered."

Harry searched through his papers, thinking hard. "Dither and Dodge recommended you, and Gringotts tell me I can afford and trust you. I have these forms for you to sign if you're interested in taking the job. You'd be able to draw your pay direct from my vault plus costs up to a fixed amount involved with running my affairs. It's a... sort of contract but either of us can walk away if it doesn't work out."

Harry's tea was barely warm but he took a few nervous gulps while Madam Fuller was examining the papers. He wished the room wasn't so... muted; every little sound seemed loud: rustling pages, every tiny sip, almost every breath...

She looked up. "There's nothing here about live-in access."

Harry nearly dropped his cup. "You want to live with me?"

"I can't assist you very effectively from a distance. My preferred arrangement would be proximity, but with freedom for me to maintain my own home on a regular basis."

"Erm... I haven't got a proper place yet, just a small shop with a backroom kitchen thing," Harry said with an apologetic grimace. "The owner went out of business ages ago so it's really rundown. I've been kipping in a sleeping bag in a small storeroom over the shop. I could move into the room over the kitchen I suppose – more of a big cupboard really but I could clear the junk out."

Her face softened into a tender smile and Harry could see her jawline was quite delicate and the skin not too wrinkly for her age. He suddenly realised he was staring, so busied himself finishing off his tea.

"You really are a gentleman, Harry," she said softly.

He wondered if she were laughing at him. All he'd done was try to work out how a lady might best fit in. She took a Muggle ballpoint pen from her handbag and signed the papers anyway, so perhaps she didn't think he was too much of an idiot after all. Harry winced. He'd forgotten to offer her the quill pen, so maybe she did.

"There we are..." She pushed the papers towards him with a flourish and sat up straight expectantly.

Harry started to rise. "Are you free to take a look now? I'll need to chant you in – it's hidden by goblin magic you see. They made me rehearse some Gobbledegook."

She was on her feet almost before he was. Her chair moved itself neatly back into position, though Harry hadn't heard any spell or seen a wand. He went to the door and leaned out. "Erm... Mr Dodge, uumm. we're going now..."

"Everything okay then? Good luck and we'll be in touch," called Dodge.

Harry took a keyring from his pocket and selected the brass one. He thought for a few seconds. "Not sure if this will take you right into the alley because you're not yet... it's not far to walk actually..."

"Try the chant here, Mr Potter. What's the worst that can happen?"

He laughed at that, remembering how the worst usually happened to him. "Call me Harry if you want."

"Mercy."

"Hmm? ... Oh, right. Erm... we need to hold hands for this they said. No, it's a kind of backward grip with your other – are you right-handed? ... So your other hand then. Then your middle finger between..." He stuck out his elbows and rasped some words that sounded as if he were choking. He waited.

"Is something supposed to happen?" said Mercy.

"Dunno. Let's try the key."

The quiet room suddenly exploded with crowd sounds and there was an instant change of scenery. Mercy cried, "Whoa! Goblin Ports are far better than Portkeys!"

"Yeah, and facing the right direction and upright too!" They were stood in front of a door in a very tight alleyway. "You can see that grey wall, right?" – she nodded – "We could have Apparated directly into the house but I wanted to show you this passage. It's part of my property but heavily inconspicuous so we can walk out and just slowly become noticeable out there..." He pointed to his right through a tiny gap beside a crate spilling over with wastage and scraps. "That's Diagon Alley."

He paused, hoping she couldn't see the Daily Prophet billboard on the other side of Diagon declaring: _THE COWARD WHO LIVED RUNS AWAY!_

"Ignore lies, Harry," said Mercy. "They have a tendency to bite the hand that feeds them."

He opened the door and stood aside with his face averted. He heard her pass – silently except for a sharp intake of breath. "Should have brought my enchanted mop."

"Uuh... yeah, sorry about the mess."

"What's that dark room on the right?"

"Small shop but we might squeeze in table and chairs if we remove the counter – the shop window's boarded up though. All those boxes... I think they just sold everlasting candles and stuff like that."

"No wonder they went out of business. Kitchen this side?"

"Yeah."

"Stairs need fixing. Is that a shower and toilet underneath?"

"Yeah, uuh... about the stairs, I've been stepping over the bad steps and–"

–Mercy had gathered her robes and sprinted upwards. Harry hoped he'd be as sprightly at her age. He trudged on up after her, carefully avoiding damaged steps.

"Any of this junk you want to keep?"

"No. That's just the cupboard room. I can squeeze my bag in there and throw out the rubbish another d–"

"–Evanesco!" Mercy went into the now-empty cupboard space and cast a light. "I can just about get a narrow bed and small wardrobe in here. I'll be half-living out of a travel bag anyway." She ducked down to her knees below a wall shelf and used a measuring spell between skirting boards. "Yes, that's not so bad..."

In the doorway, Harry shook his head. "Mercy, I'm only fourteen so I can manage in here. You take the room opposite like I said. I mean, even _that's_ not huge, but _this_ , this is... I'll clear out my..."

He paused when she looked up frowning. "Harry, I'd be failing in my duty if I didn't give you some advice here. Listen, I'm not a guest, I'm your paid assistant. You shouldn't play second fiddle to your employees as you go through life. Be more assertive. Take command. Treat workers with respect but show them who's boss. Otherwise there are some who would–"

"–Mercy, I'm ordering you to sleep in the front bedroom!"

She jumped to her feet so quickly she almost banged her head on the shelf. "Now that's more like it!"

But if it were not for the wand glimmer swooping and swerving after her in the gloom, Harry could have sworn she was smiling as she crossed the landing and into the room over the shop. She rolled up her sleeves. "Leave this all to me. I'll be down in ten minutes to fix the stairs."

.

Coming of Age

Mercy Fuller was as good as her word. Only a few minutes later she was sorting out the downstairs rooms. The boarding came down, the extensive pebble-glass shop front was strengthened and cleaned to allow a flood of light in, and soon they were sitting down at a conjured table in the shop drinking juice and working out a schedule and gazing out on Diagon Alley.

"Want me to take care of Skeeter for you?" She placed her bag on the table and took from it a notebook, into which she began writing.

Harry scowled at the headline across the way. "She just makes up anything she wants, and everybody believes her rubbish."

"That's what law firms are for. Just say the word and I'll speak to Dither and Dodge. You'll be surprised what's possible."

"You mean they can stop her telling lies? Why didn't Dumbledore do something then!"

"He's so concerned with the big picture he overlooks the personal feelings of the individual. Nobody ever breaks a magical contract because they'd almost always be worse off, so he never thought of it as an option. And maybe he was too eager to see how well you might fare in the Tournament."

"How can I be worse off! I'm sure I'd have died in–"

"–You're the exception. Why'd you get into the Tournament anyway?"

"Someone put my name in – hoping I'd get killed I guess and–" Without warning, the memory of his dream flooded back and the obvious connection was made to the Moody impersonator.

"That's awful!" Mercy was saying. "You needed help right there. Nobody advised you?"

Harry never heard her. He was staring down trying to think. "It was someone called Bartemius disguised as Professor Moody."

"What? You mean Polyjuice?"

"I guess so." He looked up as a new idea came to him. "Can you get _me_ some? So I can walk outside without anyone knowing it's me?"

He noticed a hand twitch towards her bag as she said, "Certainly, but I'd recommend an ageing potion. It's more controllable and more comfortable to use. And it lasts longer. Accentuate the greys a little and charm the eyes; nobody would believe it's you."

Mercy saw he was staring at her greying hair and sighed. "Cards on the table. Do you trust me, Harry?"

"Of course I do."

"Harry, think about this more carefully. Do you trust me?"

Sinking into his thoughts, he pondered what she'd advised – more for appearance sake than anything. "As well as the recommendations I've had, you sort of _feel_ right. Yes, I _feel_ I can trust you."

"Even if I told you I have secrets?"

"Depends on the secrets. I can't believe it's anything wicked."

The handbag on the table seemed to open itself. A small vial containing a misty green fluid floated out. "Ageing potion. I use it myself. Helps me get accepted in more places."

"All the time? You use it all the time? Like now? How old are you then really?"

"I'm twenty-four and I've been using the potion once a week for five years. Oh, I didn't set out to do that. I used it only as needed at first but very soon I was leaving it longer and longer until, well... this is a comfortable age. It's just business, you understand?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "That's brilliant. And if you can make me really old like you that'd be great!"

She grimaced but said nothing as she conjured a measuring spoon.

"Is that all that's needed?" said Harry as he took the spoon from her.

"Hold your hand steady while I pour. Yes, this amount lasts about nine to ten days so if we take a spoonful each week, we're good. The strength is about age forty but it can be diluted if you prefer a bit younger?"

"Forty is fine."

He braced himself then swallowed. "Mmm... tastes nice. How long before it–"

"–I blend some flavours in. I remember Madam Pomfrey never bothered. I think she'll enjoyed seeing her young patients squirm."

"Tell me about it." He looked at his hands and shook his head. There was no change.

"Aah... yes... it'll take twenty or thirty years to take effect – just kidding – twenty or thirty minutes, but you should see a bit of difference before then."

Mercy pointed her wand and began an incantation. "That was to grey your hair so you look even older while remaining reasonably fit. I tried being seventy once and I didn't like it so much. Too quick. Probably best to adjust to that age slowly."

"And you're like this all the while then? You wake up old in the morning?"

"Seems normal to me now. You don't need to, of course, if you don't want. Just seems convenient not to have to keep changing. I was forever worrying about dates and times – panicking if I wasn't ready for an appointment. There's a counter potion but even so..."

"Weird."

"While we're waiting, I'll do your eyes. Can you take your glasses off please?"

He put them carefully on the table where he could find them easily. Mercy dragged her chair round to his side without magic then peered closely at him. He felt a bit unnerved now she was so near. A faint, musky scent directly filled his... mind. "How does that–?"

"–Short-sightedness is generally the eyeball becoming too long. This'll normalise it." Her wand swung up.

"Ow! That felt... odd." He blinked then felt his face to make sure he really wasn't wearing his glasses. "This is... amazing. If it's that easy, why didn't someone tell me before? Madam Pomfrey for instance?"

She shook her head. "It's generally the parents' responsibility to get this done for their kids."

"Thanks... Mum."

"Uugh! Rather you call me Mercy now you're in your twenties, son."

"I am?" He looked around for a mirror and Mercy conjured him one.

"Hey, look at me! I'm really old!"

"Yet still excitable as a ten-year-old. Try to avoid that in the street Harry. Now what colour eyes do you want? Brown is common and less noticeable than blue or pale grey."

"Brown it is then."

"Next, change of name. Any preferences?"

"Mmm... hadn't really thought... how about erm... Evan Jameson? Or Hadrian Porter?"

"You are joking, right? Those won't fool anyone. Try something ordinary, common, and forgettable with no connection to your real name."

"Uumm..."

"Ben Jones. Any problem with that?"

"Erm..." Harry grinned. "What was it again?"

She gently swatted his hair, then her warmth moved away from him.

"Even someone searching for you won't glance twice at an old married couple. Of course, you're free to go anywhere alone but you'll find it handy to have me nearby to assist you with information and – that's reminds me, sex education."

"What! Just... what? I'm fourteen, Mercy. I got that out of a book years ago."

"Not the same as doing. You'll walk awkwardly beside me, not like we're married at all."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You mean..."

"It'll just be business, Harry. Don't fall in love or anything stupid, will you?"

"You do mean... don't you?"

"Your choice. According to the Ministry you're of age. I recommend you get it out of your system. Just a week or so's experience should be enough, then I can hang onto your arm as we walk and you won't act stiffly."

Harry had no answer. He just gawped at her.

She sighed. "I suppose I do look a bit past it to you, right?"

"No, no, you l–look fine!"

"Thing is, you need to react to me as I am now."

"You're fine, Mercy. Honest you are."

She thought for a while. Harry wondered if she'd changed her mind.

"This is what I suggest," she finally said. Harry liked that she didn't order him to do anything. "I'll take the counter potion tonight. I should be reasonably good looking at twenty-four. Then I'll age a bit each successive night, how's that? After a week or two you'll adjust."

Harry tried to speak but nothing came out but a croak.

"You need to think some more about this, Harry. I'm not forcing you. My judgement and advice is it'll help you. But take time to reconsider–"

"–No, th–tha'salright. That's... I don't mind."

She smiled. "You don't mind? Harry, I need to teach you how to talk to a lady."

"You said it's just business."

"That's right, I did. Just business."

He stared at the gold ring on her finger. "What about...?"

"Harry, I'm not really married. Mercy Fuller is not even my original name. Secrets, remember? Helps me get in places and... mmm... you've got me thinking. I'm not famous like you but a few people know me by name. Maybe you should be Ben Fuller. You look thirty now. What do you think?"

He gawped in the mirror. "Whoa...!"

"I mean about the name?"

"Ben Fuller. That is so cool."

"Now, where shall say we met, you and I? What places have you visited?"

"Uumm, nowhere really. I've never been anywhere."

"Ministry?"

"Oh, yeah. Forgot that."

"So, we met in the Atrium. Lived at 24 Wick Street off the Charing Cross Road, but you never tell anyone those details unless you absolutely have to, right? You can just say, 'Charing Cross' or 'mind your own business', whatever is appropriate."

"24 Wick Street... got it."

.

Regrets

Albus Dumbledore was troubled, waiting for a certain someone to turn a page in the book they were reading. His dinner lay before him untouched. Harry Potter had only been gone a few days but there'd been a change in the atmosphere of the school once the Headmaster had admonished everyone and revealed the truth in a lengthy announcement soon after the boy had departed. Did many of them feel as badly as he did? Impossible. Only he knew what the boy who lived was prophesied to accomplish.

He sighed and prodded at a potato which stared accusingly up at him. The Gryffindors were particularly quiet. He looked across at them. Ron Weasley was scowling down at the tabletop. At least Hermione Granger was eating sensibly – still studying the same page of a book as she did so. Minerva and other staff members had informed him she was throwing herself into her classwork more vigorously than ever. That was good, wasn't it? He waited for her to turn the page... And waited... Was she really reading it?

But where now was Harry Potter? Alone, friendless, and helplessly vulnerable, the poor lad must be crying himself to sleep with regret...

.

Everlasting Flame

Harry Potter's feet seemed rooted into the little bedroom carpet. "Oh – My – God, Mercy! You're... you're..." Not wishing to point in so small a room, and so close to the young woman standing before him, he folded his arms across his bare chest which, even at forty, looked scrawny.

"Ah well, I always kept myself in shape, exercise charms, drank the right potions and so on. Take a good look; you need to come to terms with female nakedness at close quarters."

"No, you're..."

"I'm what?"

"You don't look twenty-four!"

With a gasp, Mercy conjured another mirror and stared into it. "Morgana's Wrath! I'm nineteen again! But how...? How can the counter-potion make me younger than I am?"

"Was that when you started taking the ageing potion? At nineteen?"

"Yes, but that was five years ago. I'm twenty-four by the calend–" She sank down onto the bed causing the flame of a nearby everlasting candle to shiver and Harry to step back in astonishment at the swaying, gently moving undulations. He unfolded his arms then folded them again.

Mercy vanished the mirror. "The potion knows nothing of calendar dates but only how I physically was when I began taking it. It's literally restored me to my original self. I doubt anyone's ever done this before – taking ageing potion for so long, I mean. If they did they've kept quiet about it because there's no record I know of. Ageing potions are not used often, and then briefly. Who would notice if they were only a few hours younger than expected? You know what this might mean, Harry?"

Clad only in his pyjama pants, Harry stood transfixed. A few days before he'd been in hell. Now he was in a kind of terrifying rapture. Yet he was not in danger, nor being accused and condemned; he was being cared for. And before him was loveliness he had never known. Ever. He was having difficulty breathing sensibly...

"Harry?"

"Uuh... no, wh–wotsit... what's it m–mean, Mercy?"

"It means I may be like one of those everlasting candles. What if I do this for a hundred years? A thousand?" She looked up at the ceiling, thinking hard. "I don't believe I even aged at all while I was looking forty-ish. It kept me squarely at the age I prescribed! If I adjust my next potion to make me look twenty and keep taking that weekly, will I remain twenty forever?" In shock at the possibility she might be truly immortal, she flopped back onto the bed, her flesh quivering.

Harry took another step away, not sure if he could endure much longer. She seemed to suddenly become aware of him scrabbling for the door handle behind his back, seeking escape. "Merlin, I'm sorry, Harry! Come on."

It was a very small room. She reached out to him invitingly. He came.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I know 'go to the goblins' is an overused fanon trope but here he only goes for basic financial advice and to purchase a property. He doesn't get a dozen titles and rings and become Lord of Everything. He doesn't have loads of other vaults. His normal Potter vault is the one in the books which is vaguely described as having a 'small fortune'. A million pounds isn't a fortune anymore. In the UK it can only buy you a modest house outside of London plus sufficient to live comfortably (not extravagantly) for life. So I estimate a 'small fortune' at least at two or three million pounds (= 400,000 to 600,000 Galleons.)_

 _As for the 'goblins remove the Horcrux' trope, the only reasonable alternative I could think of was to leave it alone until Harry dies naturally of old age. But with the ageing potion available, that might be a very long time indeed! Plus he'd get bad visions, scar pain, etc. No, I wanted him to walk away from all that and be free. Let someone else sort out the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort._

 _Another fanon trope I hate is giving Harry silly obvious false names like Harry Jameson which would fool nobody, especially Dumbledore if he was perusing the records at another school searching for Harry. I hate those silly names so much I confess I had a dig at it in this fic. Why do fan fiction authors keep blindly copying one another's follies? Yes, I see the problem of not reacting to your original name but a false name MUST be different and not similar in any way._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	3. The Happy Couple

.

 _So far... 4th Year. Reviled at Hogwarts because his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter is in despair at all the calamities which keep ruining his life. He leaves Hogwarts and employs Mercy Fuller as his personal affairs manager. For security, they use ageing potion to appear as a middle-aged, married couple, and Harry assume the name Ben Fuller. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 3**

 **The Happy Couple**

* * *

.

Condemnation

None of the many passersby took any special interest in the middle-aged wizard and his wife as they bought a Daily Prophet at the newsstand in Diagon Alley.

"There's a bench here, Mercy. Let's take a break while we read what it says."

"Okay, Ben." She cast a warming charm on the seat before they sat down.

They leaned in together quite unconsciously, both tracing a finger down the lead article. "A full retraction!" cried Mercy.

"Skeeter suspended – I wonder how long for?" murmured Harry, turning away to dig some books out of his bag, and the November copy of _Prospicks Monthly_ they'd purchased earlier. He flipped through it, marvelling at the moving imagery of witches and wizards employed in many different jobs. He heard a rustle of paper and became aware of his companion's gaze upon him.

"You've adjusted well," she said. "The differences are subtle but you're acting more like we've been married a while rather than like a fourteen-year-old kid."

"Shut up, woman and get on with your knitting. I'm busy with man's work."

"You don't fool me, Ben. I can see you grinning."

"Not."

"Listen, there's a statement here from Dumbledore."

Harry jerked upright. Then lowered his head to the catalogue again. "Not interested."

"Mistakes made ... regrets ... changes in policy ... blah, blah... Ah, the transcript and account of his announcement to the students in the Great Hall."

"Not interested."

" _Students, and Staff, tonight, it is my sad duty to announce certain facts to you all. First and foremost: We now have unmistakable proof that Harry Potter did NOT put his name into the Goblet of Fire._

" _According to reports, there was uproar. Commotion of the loudest kind. Even wailing. Dumbledore made no attempt to quell it. He let it die slowly of its own anguish._

" _The individual who falsely placed the name of Harry Potter in the Goblet has been identified as Bartemius Crouch Junior who had been impersonating Professor Alastor Moody._

" _His purpose was such that either Harry would suffer and die ... or else be enabled to win the Cup and become transported to a terrible ritual in which Harry's blood would have been drained to help in the resurrection and empowerment of He Who's Name Has Been Redacted."_

" _There were cries of desperation and fear. Some of the screamers raced to the exit door, but the door was locked._

" _If Harry had yielded to the enormous pressures placed upon him, then the Dark Lord would have arisen. Then with certainty The Boy Who Lived would have died and all our hopes with him. Your fate, and the fate of your descendants would have been desperate indeed. But instead, this young man's courage stood fast against your abuse, your insults, your cowardly defilement of his character, and indeed my own bad advice. He walked away. He walked away, not because it was easy but because it – was – right! He sacrificed his education, his future, every kind of magical contract, and all possibility of marriage within the magical community. The finest of us ... is lost to us._

" _I see some of you bowing your heads. Let mine hang with yours, for my guilt is greatest. Nineteen-ninety-four will be entered in the History books as Hogwarts most infamous, as harbouring its lowest crimes and its shabbiest hours. The names of each but a very few of you will be carved into a Wall of Disgrace to cast shadow on this Hall as a lesson for future generations. Appeals will be listened to. However, if you lack the courage to bring your sins quaking before Merlin himself, then do not stand before me, for I shall not be as merciful."_

"Not.. _interested_ ," croaked Harry, and there was an odd, high-pitched note to his voice when he tried to change the subject: "Hey look, these witches are gathering potatoes using only their wands. I didn't realise magical folk did farm work."

"Where else did you think food comes from? Elves mostly work in houses and gardens."

"Dunno. Never gave it any thought. Oh, look, pigs _can_ fly." He snatched at something as the page fluttered in the breeze, but missed.

"You'll find something, Ben. And you don't even need to commit forever. Try different jobs. Anything you don't like – quit! Right. Do you fancy walking up to the Leaky for lunch or...?"

"Sure, why not."

.

Deceit on Diagon Alley

They gathered up their things and ambled off into the crowds of shoppers. The day was bright, though quite cold; warming charms were evident but very few travel cloaks were being worn.

"Some Muggles might be wearing gloves today," mused Harry, gazing about him thoughtfully for a while, before suddenly asking, "Tell me about holding hands again."

"Well, at our age it's not so common but not a dead giveaway if you do."

He slipped his hand into hers. They found themselves weaving around the passersby more. Space was tight. They pulled in closer together.

"You're not going soppy on me, are you, Ben. I warned you."

"No, it's just business."

She pulled a face at him sideways briefly as they almost halted before a bunched-up group of witches peering into a fishmongers at a fresh delivery of Plimpies.

"No, seriously Mercy, it's just the... friendship connection. Means a lot to me. I never really had a good friend before– ... HERMIONE! What are _you_ doing here!"

The bushy-haired girl before them seemed frozen in time. Her mouth fell open. She stared intently at Harry. Then at Mercy. Then at their hands. The rings on their fingers. Without saying a word she bolted back at an angle towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Mercy sighed. "Harry! First time you see someone you blow your cover! Sorry, my fault. I need to train you more efficiently. Who was that anyway?"

"A... friend..." Harry had released Mercy's hand. "What'd I do? D'you think she knew it was me before I...? How? I thought our disguise was perfect. My picture's in the paper every other day! Nobody else notices!"

"Harry, Harry, go after her."

"What?"

"Quickly. Her feelings are hurt. Please, Harry, run."

The youth trusted Mercy's advice without understanding its purpose. He sprinted through the crowd in the direction he thought Hermione must be running. He caught up with her at the Leaky's back wall, fumbling to open it with her wand.

"Hermione! Wait!"

She stared back over her shoulder with a sort of terrified expression. "Go away! Who are you!" She turned back frantically to the bricks.

"Hermione, you know it's me."

There was long, high keening sound of resignation, like a small animal pining the loss of its mate. Her forehead leaned onto the cold, unmoving bricks.

"Erm... Hermione, I've probably done something wicked, only... well, you know how stupid I am... I can't think what. Please, Hermione...?"

She squared her shoulders, but her eyes were bright with tears when she turned around. "There's nothing wicked about getting married, Harry. It was just the sudden shock of you leaving without much warning and then... this..."

"But... but..."

Hurried footsteps came up behind. "Introduce us, please, Harry."

"Uh, yeah, Hermione, this is Mercy Fuller. ... Mercy this is Hermione Granger, my best friend at Hogwarts."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger. I'm Harry's affairs manager. We've taken ageing potion and are pretending to be married as a disguise for the sake of Harry's security. I beg you not to inform anyone."

"Pretending..."

"Hermione, it was you that suggested I get professional help," said Harry.

"That's right... I did."

"Miss Granger, it's very important that you and Harry talk. He's been busy working out his future but he needs to consider his past debts too."

"Debts?" said Harry.

"Without realising it, you've been referring to Hermione in glowing terms frequently if not by name. 'More than a friend' I think were your exact words, and 'don't know how I'd have survived without her.'"

Hermione was staring at Harry as he in turn gaped open-mouthed at Mercy.

"I know. I'm sorry, Harry," Mercy added hastily, "for betraying those little confidences, but my duty is to provide the best guidance I am able. Miss Granger, have you time to join us for lunch? It's really, really important that you and Harry talk."

"Uuh..." Hermione continued to stare at Harry.

"Miss Granger?" Mercy smiled and her fingers brushed at the grey hairs on the side of Harry's head. "Not at his best, I'm afraid is he, wrinkles round his eyes and so on? The virtual years have not been kind to him."

"No... no, he's fine..."

"Then, shall we?" Mercy's fingers almost blurred over the brickwork which yielded immediately. They went inside.

.

Service

They found themselves a partitioned alcove for privacy. Hermione ordered a jacket potato, ham, buttered sweet corn and delicate lettuce hearts. Harry found himself repeating precisely the same. They never noticed what Mercy ordered.

While they waited for Tom to bring their meal, the silence was a little strained. Harry couldn't understand why Mercy didn't speak up. Perhaps she wanted him to be first at making an effort. "Uuh... so how come you're down here mid-term anyway, Hermione? Christmas is weeks away."

"Oh, nothing special. What have you been doing with yourself, Harry? Are you keeping well? Are you alright? Are you happy? What about your magic? Did you practise that summoning charm? I hope you keep reading. There's a new book published you might like. I'll write its title down once... if you want to read it, that is. I wouldn't want to... I do hope you're happy. I mean, is everything...? A lot of people have been asking me about you but I couldn't tell them anything, of course. Not that I would have. If you didn't want me to, I mean. I wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, sorry. Should have owled but..."

"What have they been saying, Miss Granger?" said Mercy.

"At Hogwarts? Well... you know, mood shifts..." She paused frowning as the food arrived and was served. She didn't notice the plates were silver. As soon as Tom had left she blurted out, "Some people are so fickle! They all deflated when Dumbledore burst their thin-skinned balloons! I hated it – do hate it."

"You've left Hogwarts haven't you," Mercy said softly.

"What? Oh..."

"The school must feel empty without your best friend. It's admirable that you regard someone of character as more important than a place, no matter how grand. You'll be needing a tutor. May I offer my services?" She placed a card beside Hermione's plate. Fees are proportional and can be shared of course."

"That's brilliant!" cried Harry. "Shared classes you mean? What about it, Hermione?"

"I'll let you two work it out." They scarcely noticed Mercy leaving, nor that she'd ordered nothing for herself but two glasses of wine and winked at Tom as she'd done so.

.

A Place To Stay

"Did I do the right thing, Harry?" said Hermione. "I simply got up and left the castle... I haven't even been home yet. My parents will be livid. I think I did do the right thing. I think I did. You think I ought to... Oh, God! What on earth can I say to them? They won't understand."

"You haven't told them?"

"I quit Hogwarts early this morning. Just left a note and walked away from it all. I was going to rent a room for a few nights here in the Leaky Cauldron, think things through but... look, oh this is so embarrassing. Harry, you couldn't lend me nine Galleons could you until about three week's time? The rooms here are a bit... more than I thought. I was searching for somewhere cheaper when–"

"–then try Mercy's idea! It's only a tiny shop but we use the front as a kind of living room and classroom. Mercy... _occasionally_ stays upstairs. I... I've been sleeping in the... uuh... kitchen temporarily but there's another tiny room upstairs you could use – just until you sort yourself out, I mean."

"I don't know, Harry... my allowance is not–"

"–You needn't mention anything to your parents! What do they know of Hogwarts anyway? If you go home next summer, will they even ask? If they do, you can casually mention you were moved to another school for the specially gifted – yeah, anyone would believe that and it's true anyway! My place is a kind of school. It won't cost me anything more than I'm paying already, and you'd be helping me out actually."

She stared at him. For the first time there was hope in her eyes. "That... just might work... – brilliant actually!"

He beamed.

They lingered for a long while even after the meal was finished until they dare stay no more.

Harry began to stand. "Come on then... hullo... did she order those drinks for _us, you reckon?"_

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Is she always like that? Kind of _managing_ things?"

"Always," grinned Harry. "I really admire people who are knowledgeable, smart, and well-organised." He raised his goblet. "To erm... freedom and a happier life!"

She wrinkled her nose at the bubbles. "It's champagne, Harry. _Everlasting_ champagne."

.

Space To Consider

"Oh, it's bigger than I expected," said Hermione, as she entered Harry's home. "From the way you described it, I thought it was minuscule!"

"Erm..."

"Hi Hermione!" cried Mercy from up the stairs. "Just been doing a bit of spring cleaning, Harry, in preparation for your new guest!"

Harry gazed incredulously at the extended living area and kitchen.

"I've made Hermione's room a bit bigger and brighter with an extra window. Come and look!"

Hermione eagerly trotted up the steps with Harry following more cautiously.

Mercy smiled down as they ascended. "I can sleep on the couch downstairs on the odd days I stay over. It's only once a month or so after all, isn't it?"

"Uumm... right."

"Oh!" Hermione clapped her hands. "You didn't tell me you had en suite, Harry!"

"Er... no, I... erm... forgot."

She came bouncing out of the front room and crossed the landing as Harry stopped at the top of the stair, then peered into the room opposite. "Cosy. Barely squeeze a double in here, but not bad at all!" She looked at their faces. "Don't tell me, Mercy – bet he made you take the big room, right?"

Mercy laughed. "Well, you know Harry."

Hermione looked hopefully at Harry, waiting.

"Of course! I always meant for you to have the front room!"

Hermione squealed and ran across to investigate the pale lilac furnishings, the dressing table, the delicate tallboy. "This is just gorgeous!" She hefted up a comfy chair and worked it nearer the bed. There wasn't quite space between the bed and the double wardrobe.

Mercy said, "You can use magic in here; the house is undetectable."

Hermione's eyes widened. A wand flashed. The wardrobe inched aside. "Brilliant!"

"Not outside of course. How old are you, Hermione?"

"Fifteen."

Mercy appeared thoughtful. "That will look odd in the streets during term time. How would you like to appear nineteen for the next couple of years? Oh this is perfect, Harry! This will save me the tiresome burden of playacting as your wife! If I age _you_ to say, twenty-five instead of forty, then you and Hermione could pretend to be husband and wife instead! If you're both willing of course... Only for security of course. Just business."

Face pink, Hermione gaped at Harry, then pretended to look out of one of the windows. She took steps towards it, craning her neck as if there were a particular diversion catching her attention. "Uuh..."

"Mercy, can I have a few words with Hermione before we decide?"

With a smile but not a word, Mercy went out, closing the door behind her.

"Hermione... it... it doesn't have to be just business."

She seemed to be waving at someone in Diagon Alley but he doubted anyone was there, nor could they have seen the house anyway. The side of her cheek was burning now. "I... I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Harry."

"I mean you and me, Hermione. I've had a lot on my mind. It's only now I've begun to realise how much I missed you."

"Oh, Harry..."

She turned at his approach. Forced herself to look up at him. He was near enough now that she could not avoid him. Her fingers touched his greying temples. "Twenty-five would be fine, Harry."

Out on the landing, Mercy smiled at the silence that followed, wondering if they were kissing. She decided it might be a good time to return to the Leaky Cauldron to inquire if a Miss Hermione Granger had left her trunk there.

.

A Few Months Later

"You've changed, Harry." Hermione closed her copy of _English Lang Witch, Year 4,_ and leaned back in her chair. Through the window could be seen two small children excitedly trotting along behind their mother towards the owls in Eeylops, but Hermione's attention was only momentarily distracted from the boy she loved so much more than a friend.

Harry grinned. "You don't mean the Ageing Potion, do you?" He shuffled his homework papers together on their shared desk. "Are we done here for the day?"

She nodded absently. "You've grown these last few months, but I also think you were different from the moment you walked away from Hogwarts."

"–And took charge of my life instead of being pushed around," nodded Harry. "Yes, I made the decision but I mostly have Mercy to thank for the success of it – and for bringing you and me together. I was so preoccupied with all the horrible things that kept happening to me that I didn't realise what was right in front of me – what I'd walked away from. Mercy knew immediately. She pointed me in the right direction, and with no thought for herself."

Hermione smiled, one hand pushing her notes into her bag, then paused. "What was... what _is_ she to you, Harry?"

"Mercy is..." He stared thoughtfully out of the window but he was gazing within, searching his own feelings. "Mercy is my mentor, my manager... lots of things really but..."

"Most predominantly then?"

"My guide to actually just... living, I think. Yes, an all-round teacher for all the things you _really_ need to know to get through life. Maybe all kids should have a professional life guide."

"That's what parents normally do, Harry."

"Most parents are not trained. It must be tough bringing up children by guesswork and trial and error using what knowledge and beliefs you have by chance and circumstance. We're lucky to have Mercy. She knows so much about life – far more than most people – yet she doesn't quite fit in herself. She's too good for Hogwarts, too honest for the Ministry, too sensible to become trapped in the wrong career, and too knowledgeable to be satisfied with a mundane job. I love her, Hermione. I love her like – not like I love you but like the family I never had. She's wonderful. And she adores you. And so do I."

Hermione squirmed in her seat and her eyes shone with happiness. "What about Sirius, Harry? You wanted him to be family too. Christmas is not too far away."

"Yes, there'll always be room for Sirius, but while he's still on the run there's precious little opportunity for him to take care of me properly. Now Wormtail is dead there seems no easy way for him to prove his innocence."

Harry rose to his feet and reached out to Hermione. She took his hand, astonished at his natural ease with her. She didn't care that they both looked older nor that his eyes were no longer green, because his kiss was not faked, and their embrace was warm.

Hermione's thoughts were of Harry's promise. "Mercy would be admonishing us right now for not using our new names."

"She's not actually registered them yet. Next week I think she's going to change them covertly at the Ministry, then Harry Potter will be no more. You don't mind acting the part of Mrs Jones, or calling me Ben, do you?"

"I love being Mrs Jones, and Ben's fine by me."

Harry grinned. "I like being by you too."

.

Spring In Their Step

During the bright spring of 2002, Hermione Jones was trying on a floppy Easter bonnet in Madam Malkin's. "What do you think, Ben? Am I too old for this?"

"You'll always look nineteen to me, Hermione. Anyway, creams and yellows go well with your hair and your eyes in this sunshine. Come on, let's stroll; you can show off your new frock."

"I keep telling you it's called a pinafore dress, Ben. Not too tight around the waist is it?"

They stepped out into the street. Everywhere was alive with sounds and sights: the pleasant gongs of hung cauldrons bumping in the breeze, owls hooting softly for attention, a new broom was sweeping clean the front of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"Your waist is fine, Hermione. The frock'll help you resist second pudding anyway."

"I do NOT – eat – second – puddings, _Benjamin_ , as you well know!"

"Or even..." He sniggered softly.

"Now, now, you know we have centuries before we need to even think about having children."

"We have more than enough to care for already." He looked across at the modest white building next to Florean Fortescue's, with its proud banner:

 _THE MERCY FULLER JUNIOR ACADEMY_

Harry sighed happily. Life as a teacher was very rewarding. Preparing children for Hogwarts was finally making a difference to magical education. His wife was excited with the work too, what with teaching so many subjects as well as managing the school library. Marrying Hermione in a Muggle ceremony had been a brilliant idea, but dwelling and working with her in the magical realm fulfilled them both longtime. And above all, he thought, Mercy, as Head Teacher, was living her dream and being honoured.

He waited, but Hermione was still busy pinching a half-inch on her belt.

Harry tried not to grin. "So you're not bothered if I cross over the road for an ice-cream on my own?"

"Well... just a small one then." On the cobbles she slowed to wave at a passing couple and they grinned back, jiggling armfuls of parcels as they did so.

"The Peabody's seem to be doing well for themselves, Ben. Did you see his new cane? Oh look, Pauline's hovering up this morning's billboard..."

She stopped at the kerb. " _YOU-KNOW-WHO MORTAL! NOW DEAD FOREVER, CLAIMS DUMBLEDORE!_ What's that all about, I wonder?"

Hermione hurried after him. "Ben, you realise this might mean you could be Harry Potter again?"

"Not interested," said Ben, and, together, they walked away...

.

The End

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I wrote this entire fic before publishing. Now I'm wondering if I should have made it one big one-shot because Harmony-lovers were wondering where Hermione was in the previous chapter! Well, I did say 'eventually' in the summary. This whole story is all about Harry walking away, growing up, and taking charge of his life, and for that he needed expert advice. Only then was he mature enough to recognise his feelings for Hermione, to support her emotionally, and offer her his hand in marriage._

 _This fic had my most successful launch ever – over 3,000 readers within ten days and still growing. Thanks everyone for your support! But astonishingly, while looking at my stats, I see my Prank of Pranks story has over 8,000! Why, that particular one is so popular I do not know._

 _I'm considering a sequel: 'Don't Walk Away' in which Harry employs professional managers and legal advisers but remains at Hogwarts to cause trouble. Not sure yet. Meanwhile, if you like that kind of thing, I recommend 'Harry Gets Angry' by fairywm. It gets right to the heart of the problems that Harry suffers at Hogwarts. Meanwhile, don't forget my 'Broken!' which is still ongoing and completely changes Harry's experience at Hogwarts._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


End file.
